


the cloud of unknowing

by truce



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Original Character Death(s), a ton of hospital scenes, harry works in a bakery, heart cancer, how do I even tag this, louis goes to college, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truce/pseuds/truce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There’s a pounding sensation in his chest, not too fast and not too slow.</i>
</p>
<p>  <i>He identifies it as his own heartbeat, his living proof, the one that keeps him going. He feels his blood pumping, rushing throughout his body like a race, one with no particular beginning. His palm is pressed firmly against his chest, feeling the soft thump of his heart, while hearing his own steady breaths in the process. </i></p>
<p>  <i>His heartbeat gets louder.</i></p>
<p>  <i>It’s light, barely enough to be heard, but still. He feels it in him, and it hits him. It’s the fourth time today that he’s realized it, but it doesn’t stop him from letting out a sigh of relief.</i></p>
<p>  <i>He’s alive.</i></p>
<p>  <i>At least, he is for now.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p> <br/>(or; harry knows he's dying, louis doesn't)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the cloud of unknowing

**Author's Note:**

> this is my second mcd fic on here, and that's a bit sad to find out. first of all, i'd like to give a special thanks to [izza](https://twitter.com/sublarrie) for um, this wonderful and yet absolutely depressing prompt. 
> 
> this fic was a request, so i'm absolutely sorry. i love writing fics in this sense, that go by the same plot. once again, i’m not some kind of expert at any medical terms or things of the like, so i have the internet and some extensive research to thank for the completion of this fic. ALSO, please note that i love louis and harry so much and I would not want any of the said situations to happen to them. noted, this is fiction. never had i expected that i'd be writing a heart cancer fic (i'm truly sorry once again) but here it is. i love this fic, i'm so proud of it, you don't understand so hopefully, you all see it positively, although it's quite the opposite. 
> 
> the title of the fic is taken from "dark" by luke sital-singh. nice song, nice song.
> 
> 22k of mcd, jesus christ.
> 
> also, I made Harry a baker. Just because.

It’s a silent beat.

There’s a pounding sensation in his chest, not too fast and not too slow.

He identifies it as his own heartbeat, his living proof, the one that keeps him going. He feels his blood pumping, rushing throughout his body like a race, one with no particular beginning. His palm is pressed firmly against his chest, feeling the soft thump of his heart, while hearing his own steady breaths in the process. 

His heartbeat gets louder.

It’s light, barely enough to be heard, but still. He feels it in him, and it hits him. It’s the fourth time today that he’s realized it, but it doesn’t stop him from letting out a sigh of relief.

He’s alive.

A gust of wind brushes against his skin, making him shiver from the contact. It’s a gentle brush, none too striking, but the beat of his heart quickens, until he calms down. It restores its natural pace.

He looks around. He notices quite a lot of things – the way the birds settle onto thin branches, how the lights in the nearby houses start to dim, signaling the coming of night. Hell, he even notices his own breaths – careful, steady. Like he’s awaiting an inevitable curse of some sort.

He supposes, he is. But he doesn’t think too much about it. Instead, he focuses on his own breathing once again. _Inhale_. He lets out the breath he’s been holding in, reveling in the wonders of the air. _Exhale_.

It hits him how he’s still here, how each breath he takes means something more than a vital action. He’s breathing, he’s moving, he’s _here_. He exists.

_He’s alive_.

At least, he is for now.

 

***

“What if I don’t get in?”

Louis paces back and forth, his sneaker-clad feet gently scraping across the wooden floor. There’s a light screeching noise occurring, at multiple times. Harry’s sprawled across the bed in their shared apartment, his whole body spread across the entire expanse of the mattress. 

Harry just smiles as Louis panics. “Lou,” Harry says. “Your exam scores were above average and I don’t even have to watch it to know that you killed that interview.”

The moment of truth is what Louis calls it. For now, he considers it the excruciating wait of complete torture. He’s waiting for the response of the university he’s applied for. Usually, Louis would be his confident self, calm and knowing before anything even starts. But this is different. 

Ever since he was little, his mom had told him about the wonders of the said university, and how only the best of the best got accepted. To say, in the least, it was his dream to attend it. His very _close_ yet still so far dream. 

It’s a Tuesday, and the rain’s pouring down in sheets outside their window. Louis was lucky enough to have gotten home before the storm caught up with him. Way to coat Louis’ panicked expression, he supposes. 

Louis has just arrived home from the interview, the second step on his road to being accepted, and he’s quite a mess. His hair’s a tousled set atop his head, his shirt’s a bit wrinkled down the front from the excessive pulling and scrunching. 

He’s in a _suit_ , for what it’s worth.

Louis wonders why he hasn’t taken it off, because suddenly, it’s so fucking hot in their apartment and Louis thinks he can’t breathe.

Harry takes action. He stands up from his comfortable position on the bed and walks towards the other boy, who’s still pacing uncontrollably. It’s a sign of nervousness, of anxiety, and Harry doesn’t want him to be any of those things.

If there’s anything that Harry believes in, it’s Louis. 

He remembers all the days clearly. He remembers when Louis came home with the widest grin on his face, his stature fidgety as he announces that he listed among the ten top scorers on the exams. On that day, Louis kissed him, hard. They spent that night smiling so much they both thought their cheeks would burst. Their laughter filled the open air, getting in the way of their endless kisses because they just couldn’t stop _smiling_.

Harry was so proud of Louis. So, so proud.

On another day, exactly two weeks after the release of the exam scores, the door to the small bakery where Harry swung open and a very distressed looking Louis walks into the room, clutching a neatly-sided envelope in his hand. “I’m going to send my application in,” Louis says. Harry immediately understands that inside that envelope is the application form for Louis’ dream school, the one that he’s been talking about non-stop for the past few months. 

Just then, Harry slides out from behind the counter, wiping his frosting-coated fingers onto his white apron, which has obtained a series of colors throughout the times. Louis stares at Harry, a hesitant expression etched on his face as he clutches the envelope closer. 

At that time, they were about the same height, at which Louis took a full teasing to since Harry was just _sixteen_ , and Louis was on his way to college, two years above the younger boy. Louis was awfully insecure about his height, obviously a bit ashamed at his inability to tower over everyone else.

On the days that Louis felt insecure about his height, Harry would make him feel so much better. When they’d kiss, Harry would bend his knees, just a bit, to give Louis another thing to be happy about. Louis would grin, and his eyes would light up as he stared at the younger boy. Every time, the only thought that would pop up in his head would be, _how did I ever get so lucky?_

And up until now, a month after the bakery incident, Louis still has the same thought every day.

Harry stands in front of Louis, his suit jacket hanging loosely on his shoulders, nearly falling off with the amount of hand gestures Louis has done over the span of five minutes. Harry conceals a giggle, because honestly, he believes Louis has nothing to worry about. He loves Louis, is the thing, and he’s pretty damn sure the interviewers loved him all the same.

“You know,” Harry begins to speak, his fingers fumbling carefully with Louis’ silk tie, releasing it from the collar of Louis’ dress shirt. “You’ve nothing to be worried about.”

Louis glances at Harry. “What d’you mean I have nothing to worry about?” His hands fly up into the air as he demonstrates his exasperation. “Harry, thousands of people from around the world apply every fucking year. You know how many they accept out of those thousands? A hundred. A fucking hundred.”

“And you’ll be one of them.” Harry says it so fluently, with so much confidence, as it is. He says it like it’s a sure thing, like all is in favor of his own words. Never once did Harry doubt Louis, and it’s starting to show in the way he assures Louis of something extremely nerve-wracking.

“How do you know?”

By that time, Harry has all ready managed to undo his tie and slip the suit jacket off of Louis. Slowly, he works on undoing the buttons one by one, taking his own leisurely time as his long fingers work on the top. “Because. You’ve been consistent on the honor roll for years, and your aura just lights up the room, Louis. Everyone wants to be with you, and to say the least, this university would be lucky to have you. I mean, _I_ was lucky to have you, so I believe that works the same way with everyone else.”

Louis lets out a small laugh, his eyes crinkling at the sides as he delights himself with the beautiful words of the younger boy. He’s just so, so _fond_ of Harry and his ability to make Louis feel like the most valuable person on this entire earth. Harry’s fingers slip from one button and lands on a space of skin exposed from the top, due to Harry’s unbuttoning. Harry doesn’t move them, he doesn’t make any effort to get his fingers off of Louis’ chest. Instead, he lightly traces the tattoo on Louis’ chest, the tattoo that he’s grown to love so much, the tattoo that he stares at in awe when they lie awake in bed and talk about anything, _everything_.

_It is what it is_ , it says. 

Harry’s so in love.

Louis chuckles once more, before he mumbles, “I fell in love with a sap.”

Harry raises a brow. “From a maple tree, I hope?”

_A maple tree_ , Louis thinks, _Fuck_. Sometimes he wonders what even goes on in that beautiful head of his, if his thoughts are placed right or if Harry’s mind looks more like a couple of bunny rabbits prancing in paradise. He leans more towards the latter, it seems just right.

“Why is that?” Louis asks, and Harry comes back with an immediate reply.

“Because I’m sweet.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Harry laughs, harder than he should have, until he’s bent over, palms pressed against his knees. For a split second, he thinks he feels his chest tighten more than necessary. For a moment, he loses control of his breathing. All in this, he’s still laughing, and he ignores the growing pain in his chest. 

After a long fit of laughter, Harry stands up straighter, he doesn’t pay any attention to the slight pain in his chest and puts on his best smile. ”You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You’re only sixteen, Harry,” Louis notes. “You haven’t even gotten your quarter life crisis yet. That’s going to be the best part of your life.” Louis’ voice is just seeping with sarcasm, and Harry laughs once more, but he makes sure to keep his laugh light and steady.

“And you’re eighteen,” Harry points out.

“Well, I’m going to be a college man soon so,” Louis grins. “I should be working on growing a beard, just to get that authentic forty-year-old tax payer look.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry then glances at his hand that’s delicately positioned on Louis’ chest, barely grazing the smooth skin below his fingertips. “Don’t grow chest hair though.”

“Why not?” Louis counters, an overly exaggerated pained expression on his face, which makes Harry giggle under his breath.

“Might seep into the button holes of your nice dress shirts.”

“Harry, that’s just disgusting.” Louis playfully pushes at Harry’s shoulder. Harry, being the man that he is, just sticks his tongue out at Louis.

“My point exactly.”

***

Harry’s mother, Anne, has always been in full support of Harry’s actions. Not once did she doubt Harry’s choices, as if giving her son full independence right from the start.

She’s been a great mother all throughout, even through the rocky times of their lives. When Harry had just turned sixteen, back when his curly hair was a wild mess atop his head and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking as he spoke, Harry decided it was best to come out to her right there and then. When the words flew out of Harry’s mouth, Anne offered the warmest smile she could muster and spread her arms wide open, then enveloped Harry in a tight embrace. 

It was all the same when Harry announced that he wanted to move in with Louis, in that same year. Anne welcomed the idea, remarking on Harry’s growth as an independent man, even though deep inside she still considered him young. She even helped with packing – buying an impressive amount of packing tape and neatly folding Harry’s polo shirts when Harry was too busy painting the walls of his new apartment with Louis. 

All in all, she was as supportive as a mother could be. Harry loved her very much.

There’s a knock on Anne’s door, just when the clock struck seven o’ clock. 

The night is dark, the sky covered with puffs of gray, making the day seem a little bit gloomier by sorts. The knock repeats itself, and Anne’s all ready close to the door. She wipes the butter off her fingers and onto the kitchen towel she held in her hands. The knock goes on for one more time before Anne swings the door open.

“Harry.” She’s surprised. It’s dark out and her son’s standing at her doorstep, no warning whatsoever that he’d be paying a visit. Harry looks paler than usual, his hands gripped too tightly on his jacket as he wraps it closer around himself, providing himself with the warmth of his own embrace.

“Come in,” Anne instantly offers, walking a few steps to obtain a cotton blanket from underneath one of the end tables. She helps Harry shrug off his coat and replaces the clothing item with the cozier substitute. Harry gratefully takes the offer and wraps himself with the thin sheet.

She closes the door behind him, shutting out all the cold air. She then turns to Harry, an unreadable expression on her face. “What brings you here so late?” Anne asks. “Does Louis know?”

Harry nods. “Told Louis I had to see you. I _have_ to see you.”

A concerned look replaces the once undecipherable emotion scattered across Anne’s face. Instead, her mouth twists into a frown and her eyes resemble one of deep dread. “What–”

“It’s getting worse,” Harry mutters before Anne could even ask. The thing is, he all ready knows what she’s going to ask, and he doesn’t want to risk feeling the unbearable pain of hearing it all over again. 

Anne tells him to sit on the couch. Harry does so, and Anne follows. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was with Louis and–” Harry takes a deep breath. His eyes are stinging and there’s no doubt at all that his tears are going to start falling soon, so he does his best to stop them. Although, it’s no use. Because in a matter of seconds, a single tear rolls down his cheek, leaving a damp trail upon his skin. Soon, more follow. And he figures, there’s no stopping it now. “We were talking about his interview. You know, for the university he was applying to?” Harry sniffles. “And, and.”

Harry stops, and his mouth feels dry all of a sudden, like all the words were taken out of his mouth and replaced with nothing but dry air, nothing but the hollow emptiness. Anne moves closer until their arms are pressed up together. Without a word, she encircles her arms around Harry, giving him the comfort he desperately needs. She then nods, and Harry finds the strength to continue. “He said something funny, and naturally, I laughed. I always laugh. But today, it was different. As I was laughing, my chest just suddenly tightened and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. _I couldn’t breathe_. My chest just started to constrict and I was scared. I was so scared, mum.”

Somewhere along the way, Anne starts crying as well. Her eyes are damp, and she shuts them repeatedly to try to get the tears out. As much as she wants to display a strong demeanor in front of her son, she can’t. Her body’s given up on her, on them, and in a trice, they’re weak together.

“Why is this happening to me?” Harry sobs, exasperatedly screams it out into nothing. “”m a good person, I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Anne tries her best to keep her voice steady, although she’s sure it would crack soon. “Harry, sometimes.” She doesn’t know how to put her thoughts into words. “Sometimes your heart just can’t take it, okay?” She rubs a hand down Harry’s back, but the boy is already hiccupping so badly that she’s afraid he might burst. Harry’s tears fall onto her shirt, causing it to stain under his eyes. She didn’t care about the shirt.

“It’s not you, Harry, it’s not your fault.” He mumbles the words into Harry’s hair, gentle and careful, as if stepping on broken glass. It’s painful, saying these words, but the pain really resides in the boy in front of her, in her only son. Her son’s going through so much more pain that words can ever describe, and her heart breaks for him, even if Harry’s heart breaks all too often. “None of this is your fault.”

Harry cries. “Is it because I’m weak?” Harry’s voicing out his thoughts now, anything that comes into mind. “Is it because I’m not good enough?”

Anne shakes her head, taken aback by her own son’s words. Because _no_ , what Harry’s saying is a complete lie. Harry’s not weak nor is he not good enough, no, he’s not of those things. Instead, he’s the complete opposite of them both, and even better. He’s the strongest boy Anne’s ever seen, and Harry just doesn’t seem to see that.

“Harry,” She attempts at getting Harry’s attention, but the younger boy just keeps his head held down. “Harry, listen to me.”

Harry slowly looks up, his face wet with tears, his eyes puffy from all the crying he’s done. 

“You’re the strongest person I know, and don’t let this – this _heart ache_ keep you from thinking otherwise, all right? I love you, Harry, and you’re good enough for everything, even better if I must say so myself. You are worth everything this world has to offer, okay?”

At first, Harry doesn’t respond, only answers with a sniffle and a blink of his eyes. Then, Anne says, “Okay?” and Harry nods, albeit weakly.

“Tomorrow,” Anne explains. “I’ll call up Dr. Shud, and we’ll talk to him about this.”

Harry just continues to nod along, even if he’s barely listening to a word she says. He can’t quite hear properly. All he can hear is the sorry thumping of his weak heart, the endless flow of his blood that could come to a halt once his heart decides to stop working as well. All he can hear is the sound of pain rushing throughout his body. And in this case, pain is his heartbeat.

 

***

His appointment is on Friday, which is four days from the day they called.

It’s a Tuesday, currently, and suddenly Harry’s being woken up by a beaming Louis, whose smile is all too peculiar for a typical week day morning. Harry opens his heavy eyes. The first thing he notices is the light seeping in from the spaces between his blinds, the sun creating a cast of light upon his floor. He rolls over to his side, taking a glance at the alarm clock situated on top of his bedside table. 

He can only make up a 10, from what he can see with his sleep-filled eyes. It’s all a blur to him right now, and he realizes. He overslept.

“Better get dressed, Harold,” Louis jumps on the bed, making Harry quicken his attempts on getting off the bed. “I’m taking you out today.”

“What?” Harry groggily utters, a small yawn escaping his thin lips. He rubs his eyes with his hands, desperately getting the sleep out of his eyes. 

“Remember my friend, Niall, that guy?” Louis clears out, awaiting a response from Harry. Harry nods, recalling the pale, Irish boy with the strikingly red cheeks immediately. He remembers Louis talking about him once, he distinctly recalls Louis identifying Niall as the one who gets the largest size of everything – whether they be grocery store items or t-shirt sizes. 

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Well,” Louis continues. “He was at our door this morning, at like six AM. Odd one that.” Louis scoots over closer to Harry as he talks. “Then he just gives me this huge jar of peanut butter and jelly. Then he leaves. What the fuck, right?”

Harry smiles fondly, and Louis just lets out a small laugh. Louis then reaches over, leans across the bed and picks something up from the floor. When he gets back to his original position, there an enormous glass jar of peanut butter and jelly staring them both in the face, beating them both in terms of head size. It was _huge_ , no doubt about it.

“So anyway, I go ‘thanks Niall’ and then I decided,” Louis grins. “What better use for peanut butter and jelly than to go on a picnic?”

Harry loves the idea – he loves picnics as well, just as much. Most of all, he loves going out with Louis, he loves getting to spend time with the so-called love of his life (they’ve both agreed they were each other’s a day after they met), and just reveling in his company. 

“I’d love a picnic,” Harry replies, and Louis answers.

“Great, there’s no turning back because I’ve already managed to make a thousand sandwiches.”

Harry laughs, though his laugh is a little constrained. He’s afraid of the pain he might experience if he laughs too much, if he lets himself give in to the excruciatingly painful hint of happiness. 

Louis jumps off his bed and heads out, completely oblivious.

It’s one thing to know that Harry’s in pain, almost every day, when his heart has gotten the best of him and he feels like falling right then and there, into an endless of void of nothing but desperation. It’s another thing to know that Harry hasn’t told Louis anything, not a single thing about his condition. He doesn’t want to.

He doubts he ever will.

***

Louis takes him out for a picnic, right when the sun’s beginning to set and dusk has just begun to appear over the horizon, turning the soft shades of orange into dark hues of blue. 

Their picnic mat is sprawled across the damp grass, filled with dewdrops from a previous rainfall. Louis lies on the wide sheet, his body spread across the whole space, his eyes steadily gazing up at the sky. Harry’s right beside him, body nearly draping over Louis’ as he rests his palm on Louis’ chest, feeling his heart beat underneath his fingertips. 

_Thump, thump, thump_.

It’s an even beat, a normal one, representing Louis’ existence, the fact that he’s here right now – living and breathing. Harry rests his palm against his own chest, now. He feels it, the soft thump of his heart. Yet every so often, it would skip a beat. Harry takes notice of it, but continues to push it aside, to leave it for another day.

For now, he gives his day to Louis.

“Next week’s the big week,” Louis breaks the silence, his voice setting adrift in the open air. The sky’s a dark shade of blue now, a few stars dotting the large void above them. The night’s gotten chillier, Harry notices, but he concentrates on something else – he directs all his intention to the warmth of Louis’ voice, the soothing aura it provides him. “I’m shaking.”

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but Louis beats him to it. “I know it’s cold and everything, but that’s not the reason I’m shaking.”

The corner of Harry’s lips turn up into a crooked smile, his body unknowingly moving towards Louis. “You’re probably sick of hearing me say this, but. I believe in you, Lou.”

Louis sighs, and it’s awfully deep for something of this sort. He lets a lazy smile paint his lips, his eyes drifting up into multiple points in the sky. He’s not exactly focusing on anything. His eyes wander over the great, big blue above them, wondering if he can find something different in a sea of likeness. Then again, Harry’s words repeat in his head. _I believe in you_. 

He knows he should get sick of it, what with Harry mentioning it every day, bringing it up every second of each day like it’s some sort of established _mantra_. He should be sick of hearing it, is the thing. But he just isn’t.

Instead, he lets himself wallow in the trust Harry has all so wholly acclaimed in him. He lets Harry say it, with much more confidence than the previous occasion. He lets Harry declare his _faith_ in him. Because faith, at this point, is what Louis needs.

“Believing in something can only take you so far, though.” Louis shrugs, making Harry adjust his position into a more comfortable one. Harry’s head is still placed in between Louis’ head and his shoulder, right in the crook of his neck, where Harry’s got his face nuzzled into and his eyes squeezed shut. 

“But it takes you far enough,” Harry answers. “Believing in something offers you much needed motivation, something that keeps you going. Believing in something gives you enough faith to last, to trust.”

“Are we giving each other theology lectures now?” Louis kids, and Harry lets out a tiny laugh, not even three puffs of his breath. 

“I’d like to think so.” Harry just presses himself closer to Louis, letting the warmth of the older boy’s body radiate onto his, making the shivers of his body fade away with each passing second. “Makes me feel smart.”

“Since when did you become a teacher, hm?” Louis continues on with his playful questions, shifting onto his side to get a clearer view of Harry. “Did you get a degree on education behind my back?”

Harry just giggles, the beautiful sounds of his laughter scattering across the quiet night, much like a song played in the middle of a ballroom dance, complimenting each other nicely. 

Louis exaggeratedly gasps. “R’you racing me at being a college man?”

Harry’s laughter resonates out in the open air, getting louder each time Louis comes up with some witty remark or some playful joke that he finds all too funny. He can’t help it, because Louis makes him laugh all the time, without even trying, and Harry supposes that’s one of the many reasons why he loves Louis.

Louis makes him feel so happy, and even if his cheeks have gone pink and his eyes have started to water from the laughter, he focuses on the joy he feels, on the endless amounts of delight Louis manages to make him feel. That, in a way, is what he needs.

It’s all different now, because Louis has just said another joke, one that came out of his smart mouth without the intention of hurting Harry, in any way. Harry bursts into a roaring fit of laughter, his chest hollowing from the action. Then, he feels it. His chest constricts again and his heartbeat quickens faster than he breathes. 

He lowers the volume of his laughs; try to keep it at a minimal. He doesn’t want Louis to know something’s wrong. He doesn’t want Louis to worry. Rather, he tries to calm himself down as he shuts his eyes when Louis isn’t looking and takes deep breaths, trying to get some air, _anything_ into him.

Once again, Louis treads on with his one-way banter. Louis says, “Well, if you’re a teacher now then I suppose I’ll have to start addressing you as Mr. Styles.”

Harry presses his lips together as he scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. “Mm, sounds wrong.”

“You’re right,” Louis agrees. “I prefer Tomlinson on you.”

Harry’s eyes widen, listening to Louis mutter on.

“When we get married,” Louis apprises Harry. “I’d like you to take my name. We’d be, like, the _Tomlinsons_ , the family with fucking great hair.” 

“ _When_ we get married?” Harry challenges, although inside he’s screaming with just pure fond. Louis just admitted to a finality of plans, in a subtle way. He’s just said it out loud, with as much confidence as Harry would say so himself. _When we get married_ , Louis said it with such ease that Harry leads himself to believe that it’s what Louis wants and that this relationship of theirs is not some kind of short term joke, no, it’s _real_. He’s going to marry Louis someday and they’re going to have a whole fucking _flock_ of kids, named after all their favorite actors and football players. 

That is, if Harry makes it.

So, Harry allows himself to daydream. 

An excited expression replaces Louis’ current one, his eyebrows raising in delight as he announces, “We can have our own reality show or something, but instead, we’re all boys who do nothing but make out and order take out. Something like that. Haven’t planned it out that much yet.”

Harry doubles up in laughter, clutching onto his sides for support. Louis grins down at him, proud of his accomplishment to make Harry laugh once more. Any sign of Harry’s happiness is a reward to Louis, a _gift_. He treasures it with utmost care, almost like if he lets himself miss it once, it’ll fade away like dust from his fingertips. Harry’s fragile, and Louis knows it.

Harry, on the other hand, feels heat rising in his chest, creating a whirlwind of discomfort in his own body. His heart hurts again, and he’s still laughing. Tears fall from his eyes. Harry’s definitely sure it’s not from laughing.

He attempts to pass it on as such, though, and he hopes Louis doesn’t see through this whole façade he’s desperately created. He hopes that all Louis sees is him crying of laughter, not him crying over the excruciating pain building up in his chest and devouring his being. 

Louis notices though, he notices it when Harry bites his lip to hold in a pained sound. “Something wrong?” 

Harry’s quick to shake his head, deny the question before it’s even announced. “No, M’fine.”

“You sure?” Louis presses, a concerned look masking his beautiful features. 

“Yeah,” Harry lies. He replaces his pained demeanor with a sheepish grin. “I just love you a lot.”

“Well that’s a weird noise to make when you’re in love,” Louis remarks, the smile returning to his face once more. 

“People make a _lot_ of weird noises when they’re in love,” Harry counters and Louis snorts. 

Harry beams at the sound that involuntarily escaped Louis, a teasing grin on his face. “Like that.”

Louis playfully pushes at his shoulder, making Harry snicker lowly. “People do not snort when they’re in love.”

“You sure about that, Lou?” Harry challenges. “Because you do.”

Louis sticks a tongue out at Harry, and Harry just considers that a sign of defeat. So, with al the strength he could muster at the moment, he lifts himself up off the thin fabric of the mat and leans onto his side. He hovers over Louis, one elbow keeping him grounded and in place. Then, he leans down, his face slowly moving inches closer to Louis’. 

Their lips brush slightly, just a light brush of their lips before Louis makes a sudden move, flipping them over so they’ve switched places. Harry lands with an _oof_ , his back flopping down onto the mat. Louis just smiles, one quick smile before he captures Harry’s lips in his all too quickly. 

Harry brings his fingers up to Louis’ hair, lacing his fingers through the soft strands. Even in this light, in the early hours of the night, Louis’ caramel colored hair is still visible, the soft hues of brown contrasting against Harry’s pale fingers. 

He tugs on it softly, bringing Louis’ face closer to his until their noses are touching and their eyes are closed, reveling in the sweet taste of the other. There’s a sweet taste lingering in their kiss, one shared by both. The earthy smell of the grass fills their senses as they fill each other with happiness, with pleasure they both craved. 

Neither of them want to let go.

And so they kiss. They kiss until their lips are bruised and their cheeks are flushed from both the contact and the cold. They kiss until their hair’s a wild mess of strands and shades of brown. They kiss until their cheeks hurt from smiling too much into the kiss, from mumbling tiny _I love you_ ’s into each other’s lips, until the words echo throughout their minds and blur out their senses. 

And even then, neither of them ever want to let go.

 

***

 

The waiting room seems a lot lonlier than usual. 

The usual television is perched up on top of a high shelf, the screen bearing no justice the the ongoing movie. It’s old and it’s small, and the sound it produces is nothing but a mere buzz in the deafening silence.

Harry sits nervously on one of the plastic chairs, his hands consistently rubbing over his jean-clad thighs. There’s a certain dizziness he feels running through his head, pounding at his weakest spots. His head feels light, and yet his thoughts are heavy. His mind is filled with unending questions such as, _what’s going to happen to me?_

That simple question, six words weakly put together, is all he needs an answer to.

“Harry Styles?” A woman’s voice calls out, her soft tone bouncing off the nearly empty room. 

Anne nudges Harry, making him aware of his name being called. Harry almost jumps in surprise, too focused on his own thoughts to hear his name.

Anne stands up, only to be followed by Harry. Together, they walk towards the woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform, a clipboard in hand. “That’s us.”

The nurse offers them a warm smile, then she proceeds to walk towards a room situated across the hall, two doors from the waiting room. She hastily twists the knoc and gestures for them to come in. “Dr. Shud will be with you in a moment.”

Anne nods, and the nurse closes the door.

A frightened look fills both their faces, one all too familiar ever since the news first came in three months ago. Harry tries to contain any sign of fear in by biting his lip, hoping the pain of the bite lets him momentarily forget about the throbbing pain right inside his chest. His head’s a spinning mess, and Harry’s afraid that he might just faint right then and there, right on the cold white floor. 

Anne, on the other hand, has managed to keep a blank face on. Her lips are tightly pursed, the corners turning white from all the pressure. Her hands are tucked in beneath her arms, but Harry still notices how hard they’re shaking, how uncontrollable her movements are, how _scared_ she is. Her eyes aren’t any different, they’re the exact representation of how Harry’s feeling. 

Harry doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want his mum to feel the pain he’s feeling. She’s a beautiful woman, and all too good for this world. He loves her, and he believes that just because he goes through this much pain every day, it doesn’t mean his mum has to feel the same way. He’s tired of seeing the others around him take part in his suffering, and he just wants it all to end.

“Anne,” a deep voice resounds from within the room. The doctor comes out, dressed in his white coat, glasses perched on top of his nose. “Harry.”

He knew them all too well, since they’ve been coming back around on the first of every month ever since, ever since the horrible news came into show. Harry didn’t like to talk about it, neither of them did. 

“What seems to be the problem?” Dr. Shud asks, raising a brow at the pair. It’s been only a week since they’ve last visited, and it was an unusual occurrence to have them visit at an unplanned time.

Harry opens his mouth to speak. Nothing but a small puff of air is heard, his throat feeling too dry all of a sudden. His voice feels distant, feels too far back to reach out and release. Anne notices this, and takes the matter upon herself. “He–” Anne lets out a shaky breath, closes her eyes as if closing them would lessen the pain of her words to follow. ”A few days ago, Harry told me that his heart had been hurting again. He told me that his chest would heat up and he would have a sudden shortness of breath every time he would laugh. He came to me crying, so I figured it must have been excruciatingly painful.” Anne clutches onto her coat, the fine wool threading in between her fingers. She tries not to look at Harry, because she can hear Harry’s constrained sobs behind her, and she doesn’t know if she’s quite ready to burst into tears as well. See, they were both frightened. 

This could mean anything, it could signal a brighter or a much, much darker sense in their future. It could be their downfall, this, the one that marks the end of everything beautiful they’ve set to love. 

Harry is _scared_.

It adds up to it, that he knows nothing much. All the information – all the past x-ray procedures, tests, scans – were given to his mother and her alone. He had a limited amount of knowledge on what this _curse_ was, as he’d call it. So, every time his heart would pound harder than usual in his chest, or when his chest felt way hotter than it should be, it leaves him with the unanswered question: _what’s wrong with me?_

He knows his mum just wants the best for him. She doesn’t want him to worry about this illness spreading through him. He knows that once he finds out about it, the worry would eat him alive, would tear at his body until his mind’s apart of the chaos as well. 

While his thoughts had been taking up his mind, he vaguely sees his mum talking to Dr. Shud, a concerned look permanently marked on her face, her lips pursing every time the doctor would utter a word. Harry couldn’t hear what they were previously saying, but he does hear it when the doctor says, “Harry, could you go with me for a moment.”

Harry nods. His steps are small, timid-like in pace. With every step, his feet plant into the ground, hindering him from moving any faster. He doesn’t know what to expect as the doctor leads him to the farther end of the room, behind the curtains that divide the space. There are multiple machines around, ones that look very expensive and complex, ones that Harry would never learn to understand. There are charts all around as well – including the food pyramid and a few other anatomical structure charts. It’s all too familiar to Harry. It shouldn’t be.

The doctor orders Harry to sit on one of the wooden chairs situated at the corner of the room, right in front of the desk filled with all sorts of paperwork and prescriptions. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him from then on.

So for now, he expects the worst. Fear is rushing through him, making his heart pound faster in anticipation. 

At this point, he doesn’t know anymore.

 

The doctor emerges from behind the curtains, Harry following.

Dr. Shud holds onto a stack of x-rays, accompanied by a few papers with a ton of scribbled notes on them. 

Harry had been subjected to an x-ray scan, along with multiple tests in which the names he couldn’t memorize. Along with that, he’s been asked several questions such as; _can you still breathe without difficulty?_ and somehow, that ‘still’ terrifies him.

There’s an unreadable expression displayed on Dr. Shud’s face, and Harry doesn’t know if he wants to decipher it or not. The doctor turns around, so his back is faced towards Harry. The doctor requests that they discuss the findings in private, so as not to worry Harry, like they’ve done in the past.

This time, however, it’s different.

Anne speaks up and says, “I want Harry to be with us.” She’s nervously gripping onto the hem of her shirt now, not quite knowing what to do with her hands. “He needs to know.”

The doctor agrees, justified by a quick nod of his head. 

Soon enough, they’re all seated. Harry scoots over closer to his mother as they’re seated on a small cream-colored couch, the rough exterior lightly scraping at their skin. Suddenly, it’s too hot in the room. There’s a buzzing sensation occurring in Harry’s head, resounding throughout his ears. He desperately wants to listen.

This is the moment of truth, where he finds out what’s _wrong_ with him, and yet his weak body won’t cooperate with him, won’t give him the peace he deserves for at least a couple of minutes. It’s when the doctor starts talking that the buzzing stops, and a deafening silence replaces it.

“After doing a series of tests, along with an x-ray scan,” The doctor announces, his voice a little lower than usual. It’s because he’s about to deliver bad news, Harry figures, there isn’t any other reasonable explanation. “I found some – some abnormalities in Harry’s system. Specifically, the chest area. Even more specific, the heart.”

Harry just nods. He knows this already, and he just wants to know more.

“According to the ECG tests, there is an abnormal rhythm in his heart, I had to look into it closer,” The doctor flips through the papers in his hands, reading off the findings.

Harry can feel his whole body stiffen, as if frozen in his place. He feels stiff, and yet his hands are shaking way above normal.

“His immune system displays irregularities that are incapable of detecting and fighting aberrant growths, which in this case, can lead to a tumor. If you look at these scans,” the doctor hands a set of papers to Anne. “There is a tumor forming in the center area of Harry’s heart, in the outer layer, hence the difficulties he experiences.” Anne clutches onto Harry’s hand, her palm warm against Harry’s cold skin. “I am not sure of the cause of it yet, it could be genetic, but we’ll have to trace the medical conditions of your family tree. I will need to do a couple more tests to find out where and what is the cause of this tumor.”

“H-Heart tumor?” Harry stutters, finding it difficult to pronounce all his words. Hell, he finds it difficult to even _breathe_ right now. And he knows it’s not because of his heart. “Can that cause–” Harry swallows. “–cancer?”

The doctor’s face is then shielded by a remorseful look as the question flies off Harry’s lips. Harry’s wishing, _god_ , he’s praying that the answer is no, although the obvious answer is dangling off a rope in front of him. His eyes are shut and his mind is filled with a mantra of no’s, and he’s just hanging onto a fucking line, a _thin_ line that this, this curse upon him isn’t cancer.

Turns out, his prayers weren’t heard.

“The tumor appears to be malignant,” the doctor says, refusing to fix his gaze on the broken boy. “It’s cancerous.”

A choked sob comes out of Anne, the sound echoing off the small walls of this forsaken place. It’s so depressing in here, is the thing, always has been. Now, it’s just the epitome of despair, and the tear-filled faces and pale white skin justifies it all. 

Harry blinks, the news still lingering in the air. He can’t quite comprehend the information just handed out to him, because although it seems clear, it’s so fucking hard to grasp it. 

He was diagnosed with _cancer_.

No matter how many times the sentence repeats itself in his own head, the words never stay. They flash in his head, beat up his insides like a storm, leaving him in a mix of pain and confusion, and as abruptly as they came, they leave him. 

The doctor continues to talk, he says something about how heart cancer is extremely rare, he explains how a carcinoid tumor that apparently appeared damaged his heart valves, he talks about the probability of life, and in all this, Harry doesn’t listen.

His mother does, though. She listens with a heavy heart, listens to the news that slowly tears her apart one by one. Inside, she’s wishing, she’s holding on the tiny string of hope that this isn’t real, that she’s imagining this all. Even then, she cries.

Harry still doesn’t cry, the shock overwhelming him too much to even allow him to move. He doesn’t know where it comes from, or how he even thought of asking this question, this question that changes everything he views in the world. He asks, three words, none too many, all too powerful. “Will I live?”

Dr. Shud’s hands are shaky now, and Harry supposes that isn’t a good sign. Not at all. He tries to composed himself, tries to hide his fear in his grip on the stack of papers, tries to hide it in the way he explains. “This tumor in your heart, it’s – it’s gone undetected for so long.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, his mouth too dry to speak. He glances at his own skin, right by his fingers. He’s so pale now, almost white in visibility. He didn’t know it was possible.

“It was hidden, there was no way we could’ve detected it until a few weeks ago.” Harry listens to the explanation, as it is accompanied by the loud cries of his mum beside him. Harry attempts to keep a brave demeanor on, not wanting to dampen the established depressing atmosphere in the room, the aura spreading around them. “According to the catheterization, however, it notes that it’s been around for nearly three months.”

Harry’s eyes widen.

“There was no way it could have been detected.” The doctor continues to speak, his voice nothing but a mere sound in the background. “It disguised itself as a usual heart murmur, or a couple of abnormal chest pains, hence the reason why we didn’t find it in the past.”

Harry doesn’t listen, again, but the words unknowingly land themselves in Harry’s head. There’s only one question in his head, only one thing he wants to know. So, he asks it again. “Will I live?”

No eye contact whatsoever is made when the doctor says, “You have five months. A year at the most.”

Harry finally breaks.

***

“You have to tell Louis.”

They’re in the car, on their way home after a heartbreaking revelation at the doctor’s. Their eyes are red and puffy, their faces damp. Harry’s a wreck in the passenger’s seat, his whole brave veneer he put over himself finally crushing, only to reveal a young, frightened boy. 

“I don’t want to,” Harry refuses, and his mother glances at him for a moment.

“You have to, Harry,” Anne urges, her face still stained with dry streaks of tears. “He needs to know.”

“So what?” Harry retorts, spitting it back out into the open air. “So he can leave me? That’s what everyone does. I’m not risking it.”

“Louis isn’t like everyone,” Anne answers back. “You know it. He won’t leave you, but he just deserves to know. Harry, this isn’t some light topic you can just push aside for another time. He needs to know or else he’ll spend the rest of his life in deep regret.”

“But he’s leaving anyway.” Harry shrugs. “When he gets into the university he’s applying to, he’s leaving anyway, so what difference does it make?”

Anne sighs, she rubs a hand over his face in an attempt to get some sense into Harry. Before she can even utter a single word, Harry beats her to it. “I just – I don’t want to be the reason he gives up his dream, you know? He spent almost his whole life dreaming about attending this university and I just don’t want to be the one that stops him from achieving it. I love Louis, so much, and I just want what’s best for him. He’s eighteen, he’s got so much ahead of him. And here I am, I’m sixteen and I’m _dying_.”

Anne presses her lips together, visibly not impressed by Harry’s last sentence. It breaks her heart to even think about it, much less hear it from the boy she loves so dearly. “You’ll have to tell him eventually.”

Harry nods, and that’s it. “I’ll tell him in my own time.”

***

He never says it.

That same night, Harry was seated on his regular space on the couch, legs stretched out the occupy the seat. A Stephen King novel was held in between his fingertips, his eyes glued to the page. Although his eyes scanned over the paragraphs, his mind was barely registering the story. It was preoccupied with different things, so much more things that bear more importance than a novel.

He doesn’t even know why he’s reading when all he can think about is the fact that he has _cancer_. He supposes, perhaps it’s to distract him from having to think of the mortal truth. But then again, nothing can distract him from death. Another thought comes into mind, and that’s how he’s going to tell Louis about this, about all this.

In all honesty, he doesn’t even want to mention this to Louis. At least, not now. When they first got into their relationship a couple of years ago, Louis’ dream university would always come up in their conversations. Louis would talk about it constantly – about the programs it offered that weren’t available in other schools, about the prestige factor of the university itself, about the limited number of students they accepted each year – all those things. Harry had always been in full support of it. For years, he’s been telling Louis about how he’s confident that Louis would ace the tests and ease his way through the interviews. Harry had been there to tell him to live his dream, to vie for this goal that he’s set for years. Harry had been there to convince Louis to go after this opportunity. 

And he didn’t want to be the one to stop him.

But, but.

He also figures that there’s no better time to break the terrible news to Louis than right now. If he’s going to break the news out to Louis that his boyfriend of two years is _dying_ in a few months, it might as well be tonight, when the smell of the hospital still leaves traces on his skin, when his dried up tears are still fresh on his pale face.

Louis had gone out with friends from his high school today, since Harry had to go to the doctor’s. Louis doesn’t know, though, of Harry’s trip to the hospital. Hell, he doesn’t even know about any of the trips they’ve made in the past. It had always been a secret, and Harry’s not sure how long he can keep it. From what Louis knows, Harry had gone out to work an extra shift at the bakery, but that’s a clear lie from where he stands.

And so, Harry buries his face deeper into the book, until the letters blur and his eyes can’t quite focus on anything. Instead, he lets the smell of the book engulf his senses in the hopes that maybe, he’ll forget.

The silence doesn’t last for long when the entrance door swings open, and Louis quickly walks in. The door slams behind him and in a trice, Louis is crowding up Harry’s space. Harry has to set down the book he’s reading (well, not quite), to accommodate Louis. 

Harry catches a glimpse of the older boy’s face, and even in the dim light, he can still make out a wide grin. Harry smiles, although he doesn’t know why Louis is smiling yet. Then again, even if Louis hasn’t told him, it’s already obvious enough.

“So I was being an amazing boyfriend,” Louis begins to speak, his pacing slow. “And I got the mail.”

“Charming,” Harry jokes, rolling his eyes while the smile still plays on his lips. He shuffles a little to get himself into a more comfortable position, since Louis had squeezed himself into the couch. 

“The sad truth.” Louis shuts his eyes and shakes his head in a mocking attempt, which makes Harry laugh. He has to stop himself from laughing six seconds in though because his chest had started to constrict and Harry wasn’t up for anything to remind him of his failing heart. Instead, he just smiles.

“So anyway,” Louis continues, holding a stack of envelopes in his hand. “I stumbled upon this beautiful thing.” Louis holds up a particular yellow envelope, with the stamp of the university settled on the upper right corner. Harry beams, already knowing what news awaits him next. Louis turns to Harry, with a mischievous smile, he whispers, “I love beautiful things.”

To that, Harry blushes, feeling his cheeks heat up from the words. Harry’s relieved, in fact, to know that for once, his cheeks are the ones heating up, not his chest. 

“And being me, I couldn’t help myself from opening it.”

“And?” Harry urges on, poking at Louis’ side to hurry him up. 

“I got in.”

It was silent for about two seconds, each boy trying to grasp the reality of the situation. _Louis got in_ , filled up Harry’s mind, taking each horrible thought and turning it into something happy, something exciting. Promptly, Harry jumped into Louis’ arms, getting his lips on the older boy’s in an instant. Harry’s thin, long arms loosely wrapped around Louis’ neck, his lips pressing deeper into the kiss until his breaths had gone shallow.

Louis couldn’t stop smiling, and Harry, too. Their contact was a series of uncontrollable smiles and messy attempts at a kiss, and neither of them could stop, really.

Harry’s heart was thumping in his chest, he could hear the beats pounding in his ears. In the moment, though, it didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was Louis, right now. He figured his news could wait. 

Louis rests his smaller hands on Harry’s waist, gripping the soft fabric of Harry’s cotton jumper, his thumb slipping in slightly to brush against Harry’s exposed skin. “Will it make me cooler?”

Harry breaks away from the kiss to offer Louis a curious look. “Cooler?”

Louis looks up at the younger boy perched on his lap, staring at his beautiful features through the confines of the dim desk lamp. He was beautiful, too beautiful, and Louis found himself at a loss of words. “Yeah, I mean. It’s another title added to my long list of impressive titles.”

“Yeah?” Harry grins, placing his lips back on Louis’, just to pull away once more. “Name them.”

“Louis Tomlinson,” Louis announces proudly. “Billionaire, entrepreneur extraordinaire, socialite, business man or something, husband, father, _college boy_.” Louis shrugs. “Well, obviously I’m not any of those yet. But I’m going to be them soon, so keep the dream alive.”

Harry laughs loudly, his voice coming out in vibrations from his throat. All he could think about was Louis, so he ignored the harsh beating in his chest, or the heat filling his body, because for once, he deserved to be happy. “I don’t know about you but I enjoyed _business man or something_ the most.”

“Eh?” Louis challenges, and Harry giggles above him. “Thought you’d love the husband one, because I see that happening soon.”

For a moment, Harry’s heart falls. It plunges right down to his stomach where it’s ready to eat him up alive, drown him out until there’s nothing left of him. _I see that happening soon_ repeats in Harry’s head, getting louder and louder each time he recalls it. It hurts, a whole fucking lot. Louis’ definition of soon might be in a few years, maybe two or three, or anywhere in between. And it’s painful to think about it because Harry doesn’t have _soon_. He has five months to a year, none of which adds up. 

And here Louis is, expecting to be married to the man he loves in a few years, not knowing that in a few months, he’ll never get the chance to because Harry’s _dying_ , and he doesn’t have a clue.

For now, Harry just smiles, trying to conceal the truth behind a curve of his lips. He hopes it works, at least for now. “I loved the father one, too. Imagine that, tiny little Tomlinsons jumping on the bed. What a sight.”

Harry refuses to say his name and uses Louis’ instead. He doesn’t want to bear the pain of having to say his name when it’s obviously not going to be a reality. In this moment, Louis believes it’s possible, that it’s their future they’re discussing so surely. But as for Harry, he doesn’t quite know what the future holds for him. So he keeps his words vague, enough to keep them going.

“And little curly heads tugging on my leg,” Louis notes, whilst he tousles Harry’s hair, the curly strands slipping between his fingers as he runs a hand through them, messing the younger boy’s hair up. “I want our kids to have your hair. There’s no way they’re having mine.”

“Why not?” Harry pouts, glancing at Louis’ sides wept hair. “I want our kids to run around with little brown fringes.”

“If you bring that word up again,” Louis teases. “You won’t have any hair at all.”

“Frrrrriiiiinge,” Harry drawls out, much too slowly for his own good. Before Harry could even repeat the word, Louis has already got a bright smile on his face and his lips on Harry’s. His hands lay on Harry’s waist, in which they move in quick motions. Louis tickles Harry’s sides until Harry’s laugh echoes throughout the bare walls of their tiny apartment, and even then, Louis thinks Harry is the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen.

Throughout the night, Harry doesn’t think about his heart once.

***

Harry goes back to the hospital on a Monday, two weeks after the news. 

Louis had gone out to visit the university, to get himself acquainted with the grounds and to attend a lecture set for incoming students. He’d been so excited this morning, waking Harry up at nearly six with a bright smile, uttering countless mumbles of excitement and anticipation. Harry had gone along with it, though his eyes proved to be quite heavy at this time. 

The clock on the wall reads half past eight, and Louis had just left the house. Harry plans all his appointments with the doctor properly. See, he makes sure to schedule them right when Louis is out of the house or busy, so as not to trouble the older boy. Also, it proves itself beneficial so that Louis won’t suspect anything going on. Harry knows it’s wrong, he knows that sooner or later, Louis will find out.

He just, he doesn’t want to hurt any more people than he’s already done. 

He stands up from his seat on their dining table, taking one last sip of the coffee from his mug before setting it down onto the wooden surface. He grabs his phone from the table, checks it once to see a text from his mum. Then, he takes the keys from the hook by the door and walks out. 

***

Somehow, each trip to the hospital gets more and more dismal, like each step causes him to feel sort of, _lost_. With each word the doctor says, he’s constantly reminded that he’s living on borrowed time. And in his situation, it’s not long before the time is taken back.

He’s seated right in front of Dr. Shud, a stethoscope placed on his ears as he listens to the beats resounding in Harry’s chest. Harry breathes slowly, his gaze fixed on the white wall, bearing no particular interest in him. 

Anne is seated on the chair beside him, the worried look never leaving her face since the day they both found out, and for a fact, it’s starting to concern Harry a little. Anne’s going off about any possible treatments – anything that could save her son, anything at all. The doctor shakes his head. And with each time he does shake his head, Harry can see his mum’s heart visibly shatter in front of him.

To be honest, he’s had enough of shattered hearts already.

“Removing a non-cancerous heart tumor is removable by surgery,” Dr. Shud states. Anne listens intently, her hands interlaced with each other. Harry sees it – the slight tremble in her hands. “However, cancerous tumors, such as the one in Harry, are more likely to be treated with radiation or chemotherapy, since they cannot be removed surgically. Sometimes drugs can be injected into the pericardial area of the heart to slow the tumor’s growth, but I’m going to be a hundred percent honest here. Heart cancer is very rare, and successful recovery is very rare as well.”

Harry doesn’t even flinch, he doesn’t react violently to any of the doctor’s words. In fact, he doesn’t react at all. His face remains blank all throughout the doctor’s treatment talk. He thinks, it’s all going to happen anyway.

“These procedures, must you go through with them, will only prolong his life–” The doctor points to Harry, who is perched on the couch, the large sweater he’s dressed in making him seem smaller than he is. Perhaps that’s what Harry feels, that’s what he makes of this all. He feels smaller. “–the chances of him recovering is unlikely.”

There’s a heavy feeling buried deep in Harry’s chest, weighing him down like a rock, and Harry’s definitely sure it’s not the cancer. From his seat, he has a clear view of his mother. He watches as she breaks another tear, the tiny drop creating a narrow path down her cheek. He still watches as more follow, staining the face of the woman he considered the most beautiful one in this entire sorry Earth, and it breaks his heart to think that over the next few months, those tears will never leave her face, and each day will be much harder than the previous day, and it’s all because of him.

Harry hates himself, is the thing. 

He hates himself for putting everyone he loves in danger; he hates how he inevitably dragged everyone along to suffer with him. He doesn’t mean to do any of it, but he just does, and he hates it. He resents himself for this – this whole thing. He hates how his heart just couldn’t take it, how his own fucking heart couldn’t be strong enough to keep him alive. He hates himself for being weak, for not being strong enough to stop this, even though he clearly knows it’s the inescapable truth, and there’s no way out.

Then, his mind drifts to Louis, to Louis with the blue eyes that go on like oceans tainted by the blue sky, to Louis with the tan skin that Harry could spend hours tracing patterns on, to Louis with the voice that could calm Harry down and make a thousand little shivers spread through Harry’s body with just one word. 

He thinks of Louis and how now, he’s probably seated in some lecture introducing the university he’ll soon be attending, he thinks of Louis and how he’s possibly planning out his future in the limits of his own mind, he thinks of Louis and how he doesn’t _know_ that Harry is in the hospital at this exact moment, listening to a doctor talk about how his death is inevitable, and treatment might as well be considered useless at this point. 

He thinks of Louis and how he doesn’t know that in a few months, Harry’s going to _die_ , and he’s going to lose the absolute love of his life.

And for that, Harry hates himself. He truly, without a doubt, fucking hates himself.

***

He supposes depression is a common occurrence to Harry. 

There are days when he wakes up happy, with Louis laying peacefully by his side, his breaths steady as he has his arm wrapped loosely around Harry, holding him close. On those days, he feels different, like maybe there’s hope in today.

And then he remembers the deadline – the deadline for no event in particular, except for his death. He remembers how in a few months, all this will be gone. _He’ll_ be gone, and there would be no Louis to wake up next to or no mother to call at nights when he feels like absolute shit. In a couple of months, he’ll be dead anyway. 

Suddenly, the potential good day turns sour before it even starts. 

Today, specifically, was different as compared to other normal days. 

Harry makes his way to the kitchen, walking around multiple cardboard boxes, making sure not to topple anything over. He gets himself a cup of coffee, then slowly sips on the hot liquid, feeling the warm sensation burn his throat. From the archway in the entrance of the kitchen, he stares over the mounds of boxes piled up on top of each other. 

Harry feels his head spin as he stares at the view in front of him. Today, Louis is moving out, and just the thought of it makes Harry want to vomit. He figures, it’s a mix of being sick and just pure sadness causing him to feel this way. He doesn’t care though, because at this moment, he just wants to see Louis.

Louis couldn’t stay if he got in, and that’s a predetermined fact that both of them knew ever since Louis applied for the university. The university was almost halfway across the country, the ride between their apartment and the campus resulting to a travel time of six hours. There was no way that Louis could stay, and no matter how many times Harry has considered that thought, it still hurts when the realization kicks in.

Louis isn’t going to be home. 

Harry’s going to spend every existing day of his remaining life waking up alone, without the boy he loved so much beside him, and he’s going to have to live each day with a heavy heart. Because of course, Harry still hasn’t told Louis about the cancer, even if it’s been a month since he found out. 

It’s fear, and Harry knows it is. He doesn’t want to think of it as that though. He’s sure of it, he wants to do it for Louis. He wants Louis to live out his dream, to make the most out of the life he has because Harry knows for a fact that he doesn’t have the chance to do so. Harry’s dying in a few months, and he’ll never get to do all the things he’s wanted to.

He’ll never get to go to university, or hell, he’ll never even finish high school. He won’t be able to travel the world, to see the different places he’s only dared to see on pictures and online sits. He’ll never be able to be an accomplished lawyer, like he’s always dreamed of being. Most importantly, he won’t be able to be with Louis, which has been the one true highlight of his life, the one that keeps his heart beating each day. 

Just a few weeks ago, they were fooling around, talking about how they wanted to get married and have little kids surrounding them. They had been so serious that time, gazing at each other with assured expressions and longing gestures and Harry had been _so, so_ sure that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Louis.

And when he meant he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Louis, he didn’t mean just a mere five months or whatever this horrible world is leaving him with, he meant the _rest_ of his life, until they’re old and sporting gray hair but with the same amount of love, the same amount of passion they bear for each other now. Until they’re both completely happy. Never forget being happy.

All hopes of that has shattered into a million pieces, hope coming down like a broken mirror, the shards littering the dreams Harry had once had. A stray tear rolls down his cheek, and Harry can feel his eyes start to sting at it all. 

Louis walks out from their room, carrying a box equally as large as the others spread about the living room. His hair’s a mess and it’s obvious that he’s just gotten out of bed, there’s a couple of strands sticking out in all directions atop his hair and Harry just wants to kiss him. 

Louis sets the box down with a loud drop, then he straightens his back and stretches, letting out quite an audible yawn. His eyes settle on Harry, then he notices the tears on Harry’s face and the quiet sobs that come along with it. Immediately, he’s at Harry’s side, holding the younger boy in his arms and kissing his forehead, assuring him that he’s safe, and that he’s right there.

Harry calms down just a little, but the choked cries never fail to make a break every once in a while. Louis hushes him, rubs Harry’s back as he keep his lips firmly planted on Harry’s forehead, offering Harry the much-needed assurance he desperately craved for. “Something wrong, Harry?”

Harry just cries some more, and at this point, he doesn’t quite know what he’s crying over. There’s so many things that are causing his tears and it’s gotten to the point where he’s confused them all, mixed them all up until the sensation has become this overwhelming mess. 

Louis repeats himself. “You alright, love?” Louis runs a gentle hand through Harry’s hair, tucking the stray strands of hair that cover Harry’s face behind his ear. He wipes a tear by the corner of Harry’s eye with his thumb. Even in this light, with the morning sun flashing rays by their window sill, Harry’s eyes look duller than before. They’ve lost their bright, electric green color, the ones that used to shine so bright when he looked at Louis. Still, it doesn’t make Louis think of Harry as any less beautiful, and he believes it with every bit of his body.

Harry should tell him now, is the thing. It’s now or never. If he doesn’t say it now, he’ll never get the chance to, and the thought is just tearing at his head, making it spin a thousand more times than it already was. 

He’s _so_ scared, and looking at Louis gentle glance, at his delicate movements along Harry’s skin, he’s afraid he might break Louis. Louis looks so happy, and Harry feels the guilt rush through him like a fucking stream, but instead, it’s his blood flowing. And with each pump of his heart, a second passes. He’s running out of time and he knows it. 

“Just – just sad about you leaving, is all,” Harry lies, hoping his expression doesn’t give it all away.

Louis just smiles, shaking his head at Harry as he does so. “I’ll call you everyday, Skype you even, so I’ll always see that pretty face of yours.” As Louis says this, he playfully taps Harry’s cheek, which sends Harry into a fit of giggles, despite the heavy weight tugging at his heart. 

He thinks, _There will come a time when Louis will never see his face again_ , he shuts his eyes, blinks the horrible thought out of his head.

“I’ll be waiting for that,” Harry remarks. Louis lays a soft kiss on Harry’s lips, one all too quick. Harry can still feel the spark of the kiss, the light sensation filling him up to the brim and making him crave for more. He always wants more nowadays, and perhaps that’s because he doesn’t know when he’ll have nothing.

Just when Louis is about to pull away, Harry tugs him back in for one more kiss, one where their bodies are pressed up against each other closely, the heat of their bodies radiating throughout their skin. Their eyes are closed and yet both of them can see the beauty of the other, the splendor each one provides in the slightest. 

Their lips slot together so perfectly, much like the missing pieces in puzzle, in which both are readily willing to put it together. And it’s in these moments, where Harry has his hands in Louis’ hair and Louis has his own smaller hands rested atop Harry’s shaking waist, when Harry thinks of how much he’ll miss this, how much he’ll miss _him_.

Louis is leaving, without any knowledge of the fact that at any moment he’s away, Harry could drop dead, his heart taking up the best of him. And he wouldn’t know, because Harry never told him. It makes Harry feel sick.

He knows that right now, right where they’re trapped in warm embraces and light touches, is when he should tell Louis. He knows that once they break away, Louis will be on his way to the university, only to see Harry during his few breaks. He knows that if he doesn’t tell Louis now, he probably never will.

And yet, he’s drowned in this illusion where all he sees is beauty, and that’s all he wants for the world. Especially, Louis. He would never want to see the way Louis’ face would break at the news, the way his blue eyes would shut, tears staining his tan skin, the way his whole body would just shatter upon the open floor, the way his soothing voice would have edges of hysteria along the way. Harry doesn’t want that. 

He’s happy with how they are now – in each other’s arms with nothing but the warmth of their breaths to cover them.

They pull apart and Louis offers Harry a wide smile, the corner of his lips twisting up. His cheeks are flushed, his lips a tainted shade of red. He leans in to connect their lips one last time before he’s turning around, now focusing his attention on the boxes packed tightly on the living room floor.

It’s then that Harry decides. He won’t tell.

***

It’s been three months since Louis had left for college.

They had called each other every day, as promised, falling asleep with the sound of the other’s voice echoing in their heads. When Louis would have enough time to handle a video call, they would, and on those days, Harry would be on the edge of his seat, anxiously waiting for the call to start. Louis’ face would flash on the screen, and a smile would inevitably flash on Harry’s face, like it was made to be there whenever Louis was in his sights. 

Harry had told him about how he moved to his mum’s place for a while, just for the time being. He told Louis he felt lonely in the apartment without Louis. It was a lie, but Louis absorbed every bit of it. Truth is, he had to stay in his mum’s house to have someone to watch over him, to make sure someone’s there when he has his attacks. Anne’s house is spacious, which gives them enough room to store some oxygen tanks, along with the countless bottles of medications prescribed to them. 

His old room, which was once a haven of posters and little medals, is now a collection of tanks and syringes. All in all, it was a pretty depressing sight. So when Harry calls Louis, he makes sure to sit outside his room, so Louis doesn’t catch a glimpse of the seemingly considered red flags behind him.

In return, Louis told him all sorts of stories. Like, how his try-outs for the football team had turned out (he got in, which sent Harry in an overly excited, overly proud series of smiles). Louis told him about his dorm mate, Liam, with the buzz cut and the large pairs of combat boots, who falls for all Louis’ jokes too easily. Louis even told Harry about how college was like, how it felt like to be somewhere he’s always wanted, how happy he was about it.

A certain kind of warmth spreads through Harry’s chest. For a moment, he panics, thinks it’s the cancer. But then Louis tells him more about _happiness_ and Harry leans in, taking in all of Louis’ words, tries to grasp every idea of happiness possible. It’s sad, really, how sometimes, Harry forgets how happiness feels like. 

It’s on those days when Harry’s laying in bed, a comedy film playing on the television screen. It happens, when a laugh slips from his lips and turns all his pleasure into pain. Instead of a light feeling, he gets heat in his chest, and his heart rapidly beats to the cause, and suddenly, he can’t breathe. It’s on those days when Harry screams, to the loudest his voice can handle, and Anne rushes in, her phone already in hand.

Harry’s gotten worse, is the thing.

Even the doctors are quite puzzled at the rapid progression of the cancer in Harry’s body. The tumor in his heart won’t stop growing, and slowly, it’s taking up every bit of Harry’s life. It scares Harry, because he doesn’t know which breath will be his last, and so he cherishes each second that he’s alive, because he could be dead the next day, and no one could ever tell.

He’s in the hospital almost every morning in order to get his daily check up, so they could monitor Harry’s heart. At night, both him and his mum go home exhausted, the sight of the hospital lingering in their heads. It’s at nights when Harry calls Louis, and he pretends as if he hadn’t just gone through a four-hour scan at the hospital prior to their call.

***

Somewhere in the past two months, someone (maybe it was the doctor, but there’s a large possibility that it could have been Anne), decided it was best to admit Harry to the hospital.

At first, Harry resisted, telling his mum that he could handle it, but both of them fully knew it wasn’t true. Nearly every other night, Harry would wake up heaving, the air heavily lacking from his system, his heart beating so quickly it was _painful_. Anne would be there every day, hearing the pained cries of her son, a concerned look permanently etched on her face, and somehow, she thinks that they frequent the hospital more than they do their own home.

Somewhere in the past two months, Harry agreed to go.

It’s the 1st of February, and Harry’s spending his seventeenth birthday in a white room. Instead of hearing loud music or idle party chat, he hears the steady beating of the heart rate monitor. He’s _seventeen_ now, and truth is, he should feel alive at just the mere thought of the age. But somehow, with each waking minute that passes, he just feels death inching closer and closer, and he can feel it with the beats of his heart and the rushes of blood through him.

It’s his seventeenth birthday, and Harry has never felt so _dead_.

The door to his hospital room opens and Anne steps in, a tired smile on her face. In her hand, she’s carrying a small box, a cake placed neatly inside. She hums the tune of ‘Happy Birthday’ as she makes her way towards Harry, slowly opening the box as she does so. Harry smiles. Or at least, tries his best to smile.

Thing is, Harry’s so exhausted. And he believes it’s because of the number of sleepless nights he’s had due to waking up in the middle of the night with a lack of air, or perhaps the nights when they shoot some sort of medication through Harry’s skin to keep him awake, just so they can monitor his status at night. Seeing his mum walk in though with a cake and a smile makes him feel slightly better.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Anne greets, the box open in her hand to reveal a light brown cake with bits of orange peeking out from the sides. It’s a carrot cake, of course. Always on the healthy side, his mum is. Harry blows the candle lit neatly on top of the cake as he shuts his eyes. “Don’t forget to make a wish.”

Harry shuts his eyes more tightly, his hands trembling with the amount of force he’s putting on his body. He shakes because he wants his wish to come true so badly. And so, when he’s finished, he blows the flame out and Anne smiles, handing Harry a fork.

Harry decides that there’s only one thing he wants, and that’s exactly what he wished so hard for when he made his birthday wish.

_He just wants to live._

Louis calls him later that night, an overly excited tone to his voice that Harry could never imitate in his condition. A little over a month ago, ever since Harry had been admitted to the hospital, Harry had somehow convinced Louis to stick to normal phone calls whenever he tried to contact Harry. Harry was just afraid that if he ever conducted a video call with Louis, the older boy would see the white paint on the wall, the countless wires circled around the place, he would hear the beat of the heart monitor and he would _know_. So, they stuck to calls.

Louis never questioned it, and that was one of his biggest mistakes.

“Happy birthday, curly,” Louis’ loud voice immediately resounds through the line. If it’s even possible, Harry could hear the smile through the phone, and it lights up the room through a mere tone. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it back home, I’ve got my finals coming up and everyone’s been nose deep into their books.”

“It’s fine,” Harry assures. “Better fit in.”

“Oh Harry, young, sweet, little Harry,” Louis teases, a laugh following the end of his words. “I’m _already_ fitting in. In fact, in a few months, I’ll be ruling this school.”

“Tell me,” Harry returns the manner, a teasing edge to his tone as well. “Why don’t I doubt you?”

“Because it’s true.”

Harry shakes his head, a giggle playing off his lips.

“I’d just like to say a big, big, big happy seventeenth to the absolute love of my life,” Louis proudly says. “Is that too cheesy? Because I can assure you it’s real and I’m not ashamed to say it.”

“Not in the slightest, Lou.” Harry blushes, feels his cheeks redden at the remark.

“I just–” Before Louis can continue his sentence, Harry hears a groan in the background – an irritated, quite sleepy groan. “Oi, Liam.” Harry hears Louis say, he’s obviously talking to the source of the groan. “Quit sleeping I’m trying to talk here.”

Harry glances at the wall clock on the wall in front of him, which flashes a definite hand to eleven o’ clock in the evening. Harry stifles a laugh, tries to contain himself as Louis puts his head back to his phone on the other side of the line. “Sorry ‘bout Liam, he’s a little hot-tempered.”

Harry hears a distant ‘hey’ from the other end, which he can only make out to be Liam, along with an ‘oof’ from Louis and the muffled sound of something like a pillow hitting Louis’ head. Harry listens to the playful exchange of the two boys, all the while watching the second hand of the clock tick by.

It all ends when Louis shouts at Liam, “You wanna fight me, Liam?”

Harry can only hear the soft laugh of the other boy before he hears the door shut close on the other end, signifying that Louis had just left the room. “I’m back.”

“You are,” Harry drags on, merely reveling in the sound of Louis’ voice, taking in the beautiful rasp of it, not knowing up until when he’ll get to hear the calming voice of the man Harry wanted to spend the rest of his life with. 

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” Louis comments, and Harry can hear the light but sharp blows of wind from Louis’ end.

“Are you sure it’s safe out there, Lou?” Harry leans over to lie on his side, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “Don’t want you to get sick.” _Oh, the irony_.

“No, I’m good,” Louis reassures Harry, but that doesn’t stop Harry from hearing the slight tremble in his voice as he speaks. It’s awfully chilly out there, and he can tell from the shivers echoing off Louis’ lips. But if Louis says he’s fine, then Harry believes him. ”Just wanted to get my message through without Liam interrupting me every second.”

When Harry laughs, the heart monitor accompanies it with its rapid beats, which immediately shuts Harry up, to put it simply. He wouldn’t want Louis to hear the heart monitor, not like this. So, he breathes, just to get himself to calm down.

“I love you,” Louis starts off with a delicate breath fading off his lips. “And you know that right?”

Harry nods, but then he remembers that Louis can’t see him, and so he says, “Yeah, I know.” With just as much conviction, Harry returns the words. “I love you too.”

“I just want you to know how _happy_ I am to have met you,” Louis says, his words coming out like little bits of happiness through the line, exactly what Harry needs, what he desperately needed. “ _God_ , I feel so lucky to be with you, much more to hold you and kiss you and tell you that I love you each and every single night. I mean it every time. I mean it every fucking time and there will never be a day when I won’t profess my love to you like some sort of _prophecy_.” Louis laughs, and Harry does too. “I just – I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, Harry, and that’s the truth, that’s the absolute truth that someone as delicate as you has to know. I love you, and everything you do, everything that you _are_ just makes me want to marry you right on the spot. We’ll get married in the future. You promise, right?”

“I promise,” Harry says, although he knows there’s no possible way that promise could ever be fulfilled in the definitely short time he has left. In this moment, he just let himself glory in the sound of Louis’ words and the lasting effect they left in his heart, the beautiful feeling he’s grown to love so much. It’s not just a promise of marriage at this point, it’s more of a promise of being together, of _loving_ each other. A promise that could be broken in a second, or in a year, in which it is completely out of Harry’s control.

“Happy, happy, happy birthday again, love,” Louis greets once more, a smile tainting his cold lips, a shiver barely present in his breath. He laughs, and Harry shuts his eyes to listen, listen to the alluring sound that has never failed to spread a certain kind of warmth inside him. It’s _happiness_ , Harry thinks. It can be nothing else but that. “I fucking love you.”

Harry grins, and he thinks that he’s never experienced happiness quite like this. It’s a wonderful feeling, it bursts inside of him like a new beginning. He thinks, as he listens to the mellow sound of Louis’ voice, this is what it feels like to be contented, to be absolutely absorbed in something so beautiful, this is what it feels like to be in love. 

“Well then,” Harry returns, an awfully wide grin on his face. “I fucking love you too.”

Louis fakes a gasp. “Did I hear that right?” Louis chuckles. “Harry Styles? _Swearing_? Might I remind you you’re just seventeen.”

“’M old enough,” Harry mumbles into his pillow, his eyes lighting up at Louis’ next words.

“You’ll always be that tiny little curly-headed boy I fell in love with, yeah?”

“I’m almost as tall as you,” Harry points out and Louis huffs.

“Let’s not step on violent grounds shall we?”

Harry’s laughter echoes throughout the empty room, beating the silent beats of the heart rate monitor, which has quickened to the pace of Harry’s own doing. He momentarily glances at the clock, which reads _12:41_ , and he figures he should be going to sleep soon.

“Lou, ‘m kinda sleepy,” Harry mutters, his thin lips forming his short words. “Gonna go to sleep soon.”

Louis sighs, and Harry could hear the slight tremble in his voice. It gets him thinking about how cold it is where Louis is and what he plans on doing tomorrow. All these thoughts circle his head for no definite reason at all – he just wants to be with Louis. For now, it’s good enough. “All right then, gotta give the birthday boy his beauty sleep.”

“I’ll wake up gorgeous tomorrow,” Harry tags along, going with Louis’ playful remarks. 

“You already _are_ , Harry.”

Harry blushes at the sincere comment. It’s a striking contrast between his pale skin and his pink cheeks, and Harry has never been so in love before. 

“Good night, Louis.”

Louis smiles. “Good night, Harry.”

There’s a beat of silence, just one, before Harry utters a small ‘I love you’, in which Louis returns. Those three words, words he kept for only the ones he truly loved the most. With Louis, it felt so right. 

Harry loved him so much.

***

It all happens too quickly.

It’s 3 in the morning, nothing else filling the room but the sound of the silent, gentle beats of the heart monitor and the low, easy breaths of the two people inside the room. Harry breathes steadily, his body calmly lying on the bed, the mattress adjusting to his slight movements as he sleeps.

It’s quiet. Maybe a little too quiet.

A pen falls. It falls right off the edge of the bedside table, the seemingly light sound leaving an echo in its wake. It’s too light a sound, and yet the impact it has is noticeable.

The room returns to its hushed aura, with the pen settled motionlessly on the floor.

And then, it happens.

Harry shoots up in a sitting position just as the heart monitor goes wild with all the beeping. Harry’s heaving in his place, his pale face trying to contain his lack of air. Anne startles awake from her position on the chair, her eyes immediately focusing on the heaving boy in front of her.

She panics. She rushes to his side in an instant, her voice readily calling out “doctor!” before he could even reach Harry, much like it was practiced, like she knew it would come soon. She shouts again, “Doctor! Nurse! Anyone!”

The beats of the heart rate monitor sound like fucking _sirens_ at this point, the beeps outrageously sounding over each other. Harry’s lips are getting paler as well as he tries to get some air into his failing body – his _dying_ body at this point.

A tear unknowingly slips down his cheek, out of all his control. Harry cries as his chest heats up, he cries as his heart beat gets more and more erratic in his heavy chest because he doesn’t want to _die_.

He’s sixteen and he’s still got a full life ahead of him and yet here he is, suffering from the painful effects of some rare cancer, and all he can seem to think about is: _why me?_

He can’t breathe, is the thing, and his chest feels a couple of pounds heavier. His eyes turn to his mother beside him, who’s screaming out at the top of her lungs for a doctor, and Harry cries some more, because where are the doctors at this point?

His lips feel cold, and there’s a chilly touch to where his skin meets skin. His body shivers as he momentarily feels himself go in and out of consciousness. He thinks, _maybe this is what it feels like to die_ , and he hates it. He hates how painful death is, he hates how death is some endless fucking series of suffering in which relief comes at the very last breath, he hates how _empty_ it feels, how death never fails to make you feel empty.

A doctor rushes into the room, along with a couple of nurses running along behind him. As Harry heaves, his mum cries, and _god_ , it feels so fucking painful. He doesn’t know what hurts more at this point – whether it’s the burning sensation occurring like wild fire near his heart or if it’s the tear-stained face of his mum, who’s already way past broken now.

The nurses set up the caster wheels right beside the posts of his bed, in order to get his bed to move. The doctor’s right beside him, telling him to try his best to breathe slowly, telling him that will lengthen his time. He can’t hear properly though – he’s weak and his hearing is a bit muffled, so all he hears are the faint shouts and the indistinct sobs of his mother.

They rush him out of the room to supposedly admit him to the emergency room, from what he can hear. He’s still heaving, and his chest is constricting tighter and tighter with each faulty breath he takes. He hears a few words being thrown around between the nurses, words he can’t understand, medical terms which are far too complicated for his aching head.

He can’t even think properly now, his mind’s a jumbled up mess as it is, because all he can seem to think about is _death_ and the inevitable probability of it occurring to him. And he hates it, he hates how fucking close to dying he is, and how fucking _young_ he is. He wishes he could understand why he, out of all people, had to go through this. He wishes he had the answer to every question threatening to beat his mind, and yet for now, he waits, and he wishes that if anyone was ever listening to him, he wishes that they’d listen to his desperate pleads to _live_ , because at this moment, that’s all he wants.

The double doors to the emergency room fly open and Harry can vaguely hear his doctor shouting commands at the nurses, telling them to prepare the AED, whatever it is. 

He feels himself slowly drifting into unconsciousness, only to be brought back again. It’s repetitive, and it’s become some sort of reoccurring state. His mind suddenly drifts to Louis, and instantly, his whole mind is engulfed in thoughts of the older boy – from what he might be doing at this time to their conversation last night, and even to how he would react if he knew Harry was in the emergency room at this exact moment, fighting for his life which was slipping past his fingers all too easily.

A wave of electricity passes through his body.

He hears the familiar sound of the heart rate monitor once again, and it’s still echoing out the same wild beats from before. He feels numb, he can feel the numbness start in his chest, where is heart is, then spread throughout his weakening body. His eyes are closed, he knows.

His body isn’t responding to the electric therapy, and he can tell because he can faintly hear the distressed shouts of the doctors, ordering each other to change the voltage of the defibrillator of some sort. The paddles are then placed on his chest again, and another electric shock is sent straight to his heart. 

His body jumps from the table – although it is the doing of the shock, not Harry’s own.

The doctors are failing, and they can sense it. They notice it in the way Harry’s heart beat gets abnormally slow whenever they finish, like it’s wasting all the remaining beats he has. Harry’s body is still, too still, and it’s not responding to any of the electric shocks they send to his heart. 

Harry’s mind is working though, and the thoughts race back to his head as quickly as they vanish. He sees nothing but pictures anymore, and his failing mind can’t comprehend anything, as if pictures of past memories is all he has left.

His heart rhythm is abnormal, and it leads the doctors to do all possible means of keeping him alive. He thinks, from the corner of his mind, he hears a female nurse crouch beside him, and he hears her shaky voice ghosting across the numb skin of his ear. She says, “You’re not going to die.”

With all the energy Harry has left, he scoffs, and it remains in his head, nothing but a small puff of air passing through his pale lips. Harry’s always been one to easily trust people, he believes it may be one of his qualities that could be the result of his success or his downfall. 

And yet, even as the nurse assures him once more that _he’s not going to die_. Somehow, he doesn’t believe her one bit.

He once said that if he were to die, he’d want to die as a happy man, at least. He’d want to have lived a full life and be fully contented in who he was. That wasn’t the same case here. He was seventeen years old, barely even starting to see the reality of the harsh world around him before it hit him right back, beating him like some endless wave of torture. He was seventeen and there’s still so many things that he hasn’t done, so many things that he would kill to do right now, some many other things that he would prefer over laying on a hospital bed, nothing but the hope of electric charges to save his life.

He can hear it, the faint sounds of his heart beat and he knows, for some reason he _knows_ they’re losing him. 

He tries to grasp onto memories as fast as he can, trying to fit seventeen years of his life in the time he’s left to fight for. With each memory comes another shout and another shock, and each time, his body lifelessly goes along with the pain, like it’s some established figure. 

The last thing he thinks about is Louis – and _god_ , he wants to cry right now. He thinks he feels a tear form by the corner of his eyes, and yet nothing is there. He has lost all control of his body at this point and all he can feel is the numb sensation that his stiff body can ever offer. 

He remembers everything he and Louis have ever done. He remembers meeting Louis by the stream one time when he was thirteen and quite curious about the world and when Louis was fifteen and willing to show Harry what the world was like. It was beautiful, all of it, every single second of it. He recalls everything good, from all the kisses they shared – both in public and in the privacy of their own rooms, all the times Louis and Harry have exchanged their _I love you_ ’s and meant every word with every last beat of their hearts. He remembers all the moments that lead up today, and he recalls every word Louis had told him the night before. 

And now, all he can seem to hear is Louis’ faint voice echoing off the back of his head, and it’s only saying one thing. The sound of Louis saying _I love you_ somehow sticks to his mind, when all other thoughts have completely been lost to the darkness. And god, Harry finds him so beautiful.

He’s so, so thankful for everything, and he doesn’t know why death makes him feel this emotional over these things. He thinks, maybe it’s because when he dies, he’ll have nothing left of him but his empty soul, the memories long gone. And Harry cries, as hard as he can, because he doesn’t want to lose anything. He doesn’t want to lose his mum, he doesn’t want to lose his life, he doesn’t want to lose _Louis_.

The doctors send one more shock throughout his body, the strongest one by far, and the waves hit his heart like a storm. For a moment, he thinks he hears his heart beat. 

And then, just like that, it’s gone.

The line goes flat in the silent room, the doctors stood in stunned silence in their places, unable to move. The last thing he hears is his mum’s loud wails as she enters the room and sees her lifeless son on the bed, and the last thing he sees is _blue_ , the color of the eyes he’s grown to love so much. The last thing he thinks is at least he got to witness something, or in this case, _someone_ beautiful, and that’s quite enough for him.

The doctor’s voice shakily notes, “Harry Styles, 2nd of February, time of death, 3:51 AM.”

Anne sobs, and her cries have turned to screams at this point as she holds Harry’s still body in her hands, her fingers grazing the cold skin. She screams, to the loudest of her abilities. 

She’d just lost her son and for a moment, she feels like she’s lost herself too.

***

He’s on his fourth, maybe fifth can of beer.

Louis doesn’t quite remember. See, Liam has this friend. Zayn, Louis thinks his name is. They’ve been invited to his room, well, _Liam’s_ been invited for a night of absolute ‘debauchery’ as they had exaggeratedly called it. This night of debauchery, however, turned out to be a night of take-away and video games. 

So that, exactly, was the ongoing activities in the room.

Louis smiles as he takes a sip from the can, staring at the calendar Zayn had placed up on the bare wall. He hears Liam mutter profanities under his breath as he rapidly clicks on multiple buttons, probably hoping to get some proper use out of them. Liam’s losing, always losing, and Louis laughs.

“Liam,” Louis shouts, turning around to look at the two boys focused on the screen. “Maybe if you stop smashing the buttons, you’ll manage to get at least two feet away from Zayn.”

Zayn snickers, expertly doing combinations on his controller and heading a lead over Liam by a mile or so. To this, Liam groans, and Louis is worried he might toss it at the screen.

Louis turns back around, back to face the calendar. He sees Zayn has marked it as well. The week after this week, they would finally be on spring break, which is at least two weeks of complete freedom.

College is different, is the thing, and it’s quite exhausting. One thing is for sure, it’s nothing at all like high school.

_Just three days_.

Just three more days before he gets to go on that six hour ride back home, back to his apartment. Just three more days before he gets to take a break from all this work and spend two weeks surrounded by things he actually, truly loves. Just three more days before he gets to see _Harry_ , and to be honest, he’s missed him too much.

Louis hates it that he couldn’t give Harry anything more than a phone call on his birthday, which is not really what he had in mind. He had bought Harry a gift (see, Harry has been eyeing this golden whisk for a while now and Louis had made it his goal to buy it for him, in the hopes that maybe it would get him the smile that Harry usually had which Louis absolutely loved. And some eggs, nice golden omelets) and he had planned to travel back home to give it to him personally, just in time for his birthday.

It wasn’t possible, though.

He’s just so excited to see Harry at this point, and that has become his only motivation so far, to see the certain curly haired boy which had just turned an impressive seventeen years old. He can’t wait to just pick him up and kiss the him because if all were true, and it is, he’s missed the taste of Harry’s lips and the touch of his curiosity, as well as the soft impression of Harry’s hair on his finger tips and he’s missed it all _so much_.

He moves away from the calendar and plops right in the middle of Zayn and Liam, bringing his legs up to drape over Liam’s, eliciting an annoyed groan from the other boy. “Now Liam, be nice.”

Liam just rolls his eyes as he continues to absolutely _beat_ the living hell out of his controller. Louis just laughs, and takes a sip from his now empty can.

It’s just then that Louis’ phone vibrates in his pocket, the shaking sensation wavering over his thigh through the cloth of his jeans. He fishes it out from his pocket, without bothering to look at the caller ID displayed on the flashing screen of his phone. He brings it to his ear, “Hello.”

“Louis,” he hears a female voice say, but he couldn’t quite decipher who the caller was since at that time, Zayn and Liam started to simultaneously shout at the screen. Louis groans then jogs to get outside. He slams the door behind him, the silence of the empty hallway crowding him. 

“Hello?” Louis greets again, and there’s a small pause on the other end before it continues.

“Louis,” the voice repeats, and Louis can only identify her as Anne, Harry’s mum.

Louis smiles at her voice, it’s nice to hear at least a little bit of home every now and then, it gives him a sense of purpose as it is. “Anne.”

He glances at the time on the watch on his wrist, it shows a quarter past eleven, and Louis wonders what could have made her call him this late at night.

“Louis, it’s–” Louis hears it, the tremble in her voice as she chokes out the words, as if she couldn’t dare to say those words herself, as if they were torture to her own tongue. It gives Louis an uneasy feeling deep inside him. Something’s just not right here. Anne’s following sobs justify the whole theory. “It’s Harry.”

She cries louder this time, the sound echoing off the choppy line. Louis’ heart beats at a million beats per second, and he thinks that if this goes on, his heart would have busted out of his chest already. Something’s wrong with Harry, something so bad that it had gotten Anne to cry off the line on the phone, calling Louis at eleven o’ clock in the evening.

“Anne, sh, sh,” Louis tries to calm her down, it only momentarily works. “Could you tell me what’s wrong?”

He attempted to compose himself, to prevent himself from crying of any sort, not now, not until he’s found out what happened to Harry. Although it’s eating him up alive, the mere fact that something happened makes his whole body weaken in his stand, and he just needs to _know_.

Anne’s sobs increase in volume and it truly worries Louis now, and the worry has just combined with all the anxiety inside his chest and with every second, his heart beats faster and faster until Louis is so sure his head is spinning along with it. “What’s wrong?”

Anne lets out a breath, instead of the words Louis is hoping for. She wants to say something, but nothing but a mere breath passes through her lips. It’s starting to terrify Louis.

Louis speaks as gently as he can. “Could you please tell me what’s wrong? Is Harry all right? What happened to–”

“Harry’s dead.”

For a moment, Louis thinks, for once he had the right to feel uneasy.

He doesn’t believe it at first, because it just seems so unreal, not even remotely possible. It’s all too sudden and there’s no way Harry could have died today, not the day after his birthday. He convinces himself it’s a lie, a cruel, cruel lie.

“That’s not possible,” Louis stands, although the slight shivers have already begun to spread throughout his body and his voice already holds trembles as he speaks. “That’s not possible.”

Anne cries some more, her voice breaking before she can even get a few words out. “Three AM today, his heart stopped beating, they couldn’t wake him up.”

Louis shakes his head and a small huff of disbelief escapes his lips, flying out into the open air. He shakes his head once more. “That’s not true.”

“Louis–”

“It’s not possible.” Louis just continues to shake and with each move of his head, his body weakens, until he feels like he’s got no bones left, like he’s crumbling to bits on his spot. He knows it’s true, Anne would never lie to him about something as serious as this, as terrifyingly painful as this. Harry’s fucking _dead_ , and even just thinking about it has the ability to make him go crazy, and suddenly he’s in this pool of insanity where he’s caught in the middle of believing it and just plain denying it, and it’s a constant wave tossing back at him. Somehow, he feels like drowning.

He doesn’t want to believe it. 

“ _Louis_ –“ Anne tries to get Louis to listen but Louis doesn’t. His hearing is down to a minimum at this point and if this goes on, he’s afraid he might just hear nothing at all. 

“Harry’s not dead!” It comes off as a scream – and Louis isn’t sure if it’s scream of disbelief or one of absolute pain. His chest hurts so fucking much and his head’s a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts and it’s pounding within his skin, making his head go dizzy in a matter of seconds. He falls to his knees, his jeans craping the hard wooden floor and Louis thinks he feels his knees get scraped. He deserves it, and he convinces himself of that for a good two minutes.

By this time, Liam and Zayn had already made their way out the door, cautiously eyeing Louis from their position by the door way, with no intention of moving closer, afraid that Louis might not like it if they had taken a step closer. 

“It’s not true, Anne.” Tears have so quickly escaped Louis, now rolling down his cheeks like streams, and Louis would drown in them, if he could. Anything, anything would be better than this fucking pain he feels stabbing at his chest. “Harry’s not dead, stop lying to me!”

He screams it loud, so loud that he’s quite sure the boys in the neighboring rooms could hear his exasperated yells. He doesn’t care at this point, all he cares about is _Harry_ , and he’s not even sure if there’s enough of him left. 

“Listen to me, Louis!” Anne shouts back equally as loud. They’re both sobbing into the phone, their harsh breaths taking up all that’s left of the cracking line, the fucking line that’s got enough of it to completely shatter Louis into a million undecipherable pieces. “He’s been in so much pain over the last few months, he’s in a better place now.”

Louis’ eyes stare at the ground. He notices a tiny splinter on one of the floorboards, then he notices how the board he’s sitting on creaks whenever he adjusts himself, then he notices the little frays on the hem of the carpet by Zayn’s door. He notices everything at this point, but he failed to notice one thing. 

“What?” Louis’ voice is frail, all too cautious as he says the single word. He’s fragile, and no one has ever seen him look this delicate throughout his entire lifetime, as if a single touch to his aching skin has the ability to ruin him, to scar him for years, to make him unable to do anything right through broken pieces. Louis presses the phone closer to his ear, pressing the metal object closer to his ear. 

“Heart cancer,” Anne says, and a sniffle follows. “Didn’t he tell you?”

That would explain why Harry’s gotten paler over the past few months, why his skin seemingly turns a tad bit lighter every time Louis has the chance to touch him, to trace indistinct patterns on the younger boy’s skin. That would explain why Harry didn’t laugh as much as he used to – why he kept his laughs to a minimum, and why most of them had turned to foolish giggles more often than that. That would be why Harry’s been more fragile over the last couple of weeks, why he’s been holding on to Louis a little bit more than necessary, because he knows he’s going to _die_ , and he didn’t bother to mention even a bit of it to Louis.

Louis shakes his head, and then he remembers that Anne can’t see him through the phone, and so he mumbles a barely audible, “No, no he didn’t.”

Anne sighs, it’s way too deep for her. She was sure, so sure that Harry had told Louis about his condition and yet, here she is, talking to the man Harry loved, unintentionally having to break the news that Harry was supposed to deliver himself. It’s a heavy weight in her chest, and it’s pulling her down with every word she utters about Harry’s illness and the ongoing occurrences over the last couple of months. Louis listens to every word, a gulp never failing to take place every few words or so. 

Louis can’t believe it. He can’t believe that Harry would keep this from him – a secret as big as _cancer_ kept from him for over five months. He tries to understand what had led Harry to do that, but somehow, he couldn’t think of any reasonable intention of doing so. It just doesn’t make any sense.

Well, not now.

“Louis,” Anne softly says. “Please just go home?”

Louis nods, blinking through his damp eyelashes, hoping to see at least a little bit of this harsh, cruel world. “I’m on my way.”

***

There was something about darkness that fascinated Louis, some sort of pull that led him to look deeper into it. Perhaps it was the mystery of it all, the unexplainable truth of what lies beyond all the empty light.  
But then again, Louis never liked the dark. He was truly fascinated, but he never liked it. And it’s a shame, because all he ever seems to see right now is darkness, and the emptiness that comes with it.

He’s a man – he’s got a beating heart, working legs, a voice – he’s got all this, and it’s all completely normal. He feels hollow, it is. For a moment, he thinks he’s forgotten what happiness is like, and to think that just three days ago, he was talking wonders about happiness through the phone and into Harry’s ears.

Back when he was still alive, of course.

Somehow, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, an indistinguishable sensation burning in his throat. He supposes he’s still in shock, with a lack of credence clinging onto him and never letting go. There’s still a part of him that doesn’t want to believe it, even if he’s staring at the casket that holds the man he loved with all his fucking heart, with every inch of his forsaken body, even if he’s standing right in the middle of his funeral.

Louis is dressed in black, in one of the suits Harry always used to compliment him in, saying that he looked like such a _businessman_ , and Louis never had the chance to find out if that was a compliment or simply a remark. Either way, it led to kissing, which then led to sleepless nights. As Louis stares at his dull shoes, he figures, he’s never going to know the answer. 

He didn’t want to get up this morning, but Liam had physically dragged him out of bed to get dressed, to make himself at least a bit presentable for when he delivers his eulogy. To say the least, Louis doesn’t know what to say. It’s different, seeing Louis so speechless. He’s usually loud, outspoken, and quite mouthy when it came to it, but right now, he was at a total loss of words.

There’s so many things he wants to say, so many questions he wants to ask Harry, so many questions he has for the world, as well. One question lingers in his mind, a question so simple, yet it’s draining every living fiber of Louis’ existence as he asks, _why him? why him? why him?_.

He guesses. He’ll never know the answer, no one’s ever going to have the right answer.

Anne’s beside him, a black dress clothing her feeble body, her eyes red and puffy from all the crying she’s done. Louis stands beside her, trying his best to even stand _still_. Just before the ceremony starts, Louis slowly takes Anne’s hand, taking her smaller one into his palms, hoping it calms her down a little bit. 

It works, because Anne leans into Louis, letting him comfort her. The ceremony starts and the smell of flowers fills the air, the sight of it scattered across the area too. Louis has never seen so many flowers in his life, with each bouquet holding a little sash reading a particular family’s last name. Louis doesn’t even hear the priest speak, he doesn’t hear anything at all, just the muffled sounds of his own raging thoughts and how they consume every little thing that manages to make its way into his head.

He barely feels it when Anne lets go of his hand to move away, to walk to where the priest formerly stood, to give her contribution to the ceremony.

Only two of them were giving out their eulogies – Louis and Anne and no one else. Louis supposes it’s because Harry had never really loved anyone as much as he loved them both, and he would have wanted it. He would have wanted it.

Anne speaks in her shaky voice, she talks about everything – anything. From the moment Harry was born and how happy she was to have had a son that saw the beauty in everything, that always acknowledged everything and everyone for who they really were. Louis nods along to every word, because he agrees, and he agrees to it with every thing he’s got left.

She mentions a few memories with Harry, a couple of powers of recall here and then, she reminisces on times that range from when Harry had his seventh birthday to Harry’s first day of high school, and all the rest. 

Louis looks around, he could see a number of unfamiliar faces, faces that Louis had never gotten the chance to be introduced to. He makes a guess that these are Harry’s relatives, close family friends, and more. He notices a few familiar ones, like Harry’s cousins, ones that he knows by name. Even Niall is here too, standing next to Liam and Zayn who all share mournful expressions. He looks around and thinks, there are so many people here that love Harry, and he just hopes that when Harry took his last breath, he remembered that. 

Louis focuses his attention back to Anne, who’s still talking, dry paths of previous tears tainting her face. “–I am so, so grateful to have had Harry as a son. And wherever he is now, I truly hope he’s happy, and that all his pain has come to an end.” Anne looks up, gazes up at the light blue sky above her, noticing the way the clouds have taken up most of the space. “Harry, if you hear this, I just want you to remember that I love you. I’ve always loved you and I will never stop loving you.”

Anne walks back to her position beside Louis, to where Louis was frozen, too afraid to take a step. It’s his turn to say his words and he still doesn’t know what to say. Ha takes a cautious step forward, feeling the grass graze his leather shoes, and even then, the gentle sound feels like a fucking knife to his chest. 

The priest nods, as if giving Louis the permission to take his place. Louis just stares on forward, not quite knowing what to do with himself at this point. 

“Louis, it’s all right,” Anne says, resting a careful hand on Louis’ back, hoping she returns the comfort Louis was able to provide her just a few moments ago. 

Truth is, _no_ , nothing is all right. The fucking love of his whole, entire life is _gone_ and here he is, attempting to give a few words when he wants to say so much. Thing is, he knows what to say. He knows every little thing he wants to say to Harry. The only thing stopping him is that this is Harry’s funeral and there’s no guarantee that Harry would hear what he’s going to say, the only sure thing is that these people, these people that surround him today will hear it, and they’ll hear every bit of Louis’ head, all the thoughts that he’s gotten himself to voice out. 

As Louis stands in the middle, all eyes on him, he supposes it’s better than nothing. He swallows deeply, just once. Suddenly, he feels so scared. All these eyes are staring at him and he knows only a few of them, and all of a sudden he has to voice out all of his emotions in front of this faceless crowd and Louis isn’t sure if he can do it.

Louis blinks, then turns his head to look at Anne, who gives him a small smile to carry on. It’s a small twitch of her lips, but it gives Louis a rush of confidence, the strength to push through with it. 

And so, he starts.

“I never knew.”

The air is silent, and so is everyone. They speak with their eyes, their mouths shut tightly. All ears are listening, taking in the words that came out of Louis’ mouth. 

“I guess, all I can say is that I’m still in quite of a shock.” Louis’ voice shakes, and he’s not sure if he can go on. There’s a picture of Harry positioned above the casket, and Louis remembers that picture very well. He took that photo, when he and Harry had their first date and Harry was still a little shy in front of the camera. Louis had convinced him – with nothing but just a smile and a kiss – to take at least one photo. And so he did, and it ended up here.

Louis couldn’t take it, he couldn’t take the pain of it all, the agony of seeing a picture of Harry on their first date, and it does nothing but remind him that he’ll never get to go on his next date with Harry, or any other date after that because Harry’s _gone_. It’s a cruel reminder of all the things he could have had, but will never have.

He doesn’t know where to start, or where to end, or how to do these kinds of things. He’s never gotten the chance to in the past. And so, he starts with a memory, like Anne did.

“A few months ago, maybe about four or five months ago, I’m not quite sure,” Louis begins. “I had just applied to the university of my dreams, and ever since I was a kid, that’s all I’ve ever wanted – to get accepted in that university, to attend it. Well, I’m in it now, and I suppose that’s a huge step in my life, I was really happy.”

Louis swallows once more before he continues. “I would never have gotten there if it weren’t for Harry. All the while that I was applying for the university, you do not know how many times I wanted to back out, how many times I’ve thought that I wasn’t good enough for this university, how scared I was to face possible rejection.” Louis lets out a hollow laugh, a sigh. “Harry, well, each and every day he told me that I was good enough. That I _am_ good enough, pardon me. He made me believe things I have never dared to see and that has made all the difference really. As Anne said, Harry saw the true beauty in everything. Everything was just so beautiful to him, and I think, the one thing where Harry went wrong was this: Harry saw the beauty in everything else but himself.”

Louis was just speaking out his thoughts at this point, letting out everything he’s wanted to say in front of this whole crowd. It’s was a great feeling, to get this all out. And even if his body was too numb and his hands won’t stop trembling, he still went on. “And I just want to say that Harry was such a beautiful person, in everything that he was, in all his years. My only fear is that I might not have reminded him of it enough, and I guess it’s true, that nightmares are in fact illusions of reality.”

He takes a breath, tries to compose himself because there’s still so much that he wants to say and he’s not sure how much time he has left, so he looks at Anne and she nods, telling him to go on. “He was so young.”

A tear falls off his face and onto the grass, blending in with the dew forming on the leaves. He’s nearly breaking at this point, in front of all these people, he’s close to falling apart and he knows it. “I was talking to Harry once, a few months back, before I even left for uni and somehow, the topic of the quarter life crisis fit itself into our conversation. Then we started talking about me and Harry had made a joke, just a small one, saying how what was going on – me, stressing over college – was my quarter life crisis and that got him to kid about what his quarter life crisis would be. It used to be so funny back then, but now that I think of it, Harry never did have his quarter life crisis, or any crisis at that.”

He sees a few sobbing people and he wonders if it was his own fault that they were crying into their palms. “I don’t mean to make this any sadder, I just – I’m sorry.” 

He’s almost done and he just wants to say a few more, and then this will all be over, and he could go back to mourning alone, to wallowing in the emptiness that his life had become.

“When I first heard the news about Harry’s–” Louis shuts his eyes, prevents his tears from falling. “–about Harry’s passing, I wondered why he had never told me.”

Louis shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his lips, a tear falls down his face. “For quite a while, I was a little angry, and I had just realized how stupid I was. Just now, actually, I had just now realized that I had no reason to be angry, really, because I finally understand.” Louis sighs. “I have been so, so selfish these past few months and I didn’t even realize it until today.”

Louis stares at the picture on the casket once more and he smiles, genuinely smiles for the first time in days. “He never told me because he wanted me to go after my dreams. He knew that if I knew, I’d let go of all my intentions to go to university. He knew that I would drop everything I had, everything that I could have for him. He knew how much I loved him and I guess, all there is to say is that maybe he was afraid. Afraid that if he had told me, I would give up everything I had to be with him. He was right, actually, I would give up everything for him, and that’s because I loved him, I loved him so, so much. He was selfless, and he thought of me and what would be best for me even if he was going through so much pain himself. I never saw it, and I guess that was my biggest mistake. I was so oblivious to everything going on around me because I was so blinded by the possibilities of the future and what it holds for me.”

Louis just stands there, the last words on the tip of his tongue, ready to be released. All that’s left to do is to say it, and so he does. “And Harry, if he’s listening to me right now, I just want him to know that I’m sorry.” He looks at the crowd and he looks at the mess of tears everyone has turned into. “I’m just going to directly address him if it’s all right.”

Louis takes a deep breath, he moves closer to the picture of Harry set above. He smiles at the photo and he says, “I’m sorry for my mistakes, and for that one big mistake I’ve done. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, and I’m sorry for always being six hours away from you. And _god_ , if I could turn back time, I would. I’d do _anything_ just to have you right next to me.” Louis cries, and he’s not even ashamed to cry even in front of all these people. It’s simple change, but it’s a whole big difference for Louis. His face heats up and so does his chest, like a sort of flame igniting inside them both. It spreads throughout the entire space, filling up empty corners with unbearable heat that’s just too painful to bear. For a moment, Louis wonders if this is what Harry had felt all those months ago.

“A few days ago, it was your birthday,” Louis sniffles, recalling the memory of the very distant phone call. “You didn’t tell me anything that night, I didn’t even know you were at the hospital. But I did know this, I still recall every single word I said to you, and I’ll have you know that I have never meant anymore more than what I said that night.”

Louis clears his throat, his message almost coming to and end, a chorus of soft cries crowding the open area. “I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, Harry, and that’s the truth, that’s the absolute truth that someone as delicate as you has to know. I love you, and everything that you did, everything that you were. You promised me that night that we’d get married, and if you remember all those days where we spent sleepless nights planning our future? Well, I’m still holding on to that.” _Even if he knows it’s quite pointless now_.

Louis takes the deepest breath he’s taken today, in many days actually. And at this moment, his heart may as well just burst out of his chest and fly right into his hands because he just can’t take it. He can’t take the constant bursts of pain beating through his hollow chest, and he remembers everything, from the way Harry speaks to the way he blushes when he is given a compliment and Louis remembers all these things, and they all fucking _hurt_ so much.

“I love you, Harry.”

And as he stares at the photo of Harry one last time, the photo he distinctly remembers he took, he smiles, despite the tears flowing from his face. He smiles because he’s thankful for having Harry. He’s thankful for the younger boy who taught him how to love the world for what it is – for the beauty it possesses in each individual and he loves it. He loves how Harry has impacted his life in a great bit because even if Harry was a couple years younger than him, he still managed to show Louis more parts of the world than he could ever see in his lifetime.

As he closes his eyes on the spot, his mind drifts to think that it would take a long time to fully accept this and that in a few years, he might still be crying his head off before he sleeps, thinking of the green-eyed boy he loves so much. 

But somehow, he feels as if he’ll be all right. He may not have the love of his life or any chance at all to be with him, to touch him, to feel him, to lie close to him, but he’ll be all right.

Louis will be all right.

Or, at least, he's going to try.

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to know my most played songs while writing this fic, here it is. 
> 
>   _"All Eyes On You" - Alice Boman_  
>  _"Looking Too Closely" - Fink_  
>  _"Drive You Home" - The Donnies The Amys_  
>  _"Bloodline" - Barbarossa_  
>  _"Dark" - Luke Sital-Singh_  
>  _"Big Light" - Houses_  
>  _"Foolish Love" - Allman Brown_
> 
> also; you can find [my twitter](https://twitter.com/twinkhair) here.


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